


In limbo

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: A girl and her cat - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Manticore, Monsters, Past Child Abuse, Songfic, kinda lmao, sleep paralysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3613971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of ficlets/drabbles I've written about other people's ocs. Feel free to request writing for your own ocs, because I seriously enjoy writing new characters!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alouette

**Author's Note:**

> Annette and Krystof are owned by tumblr user raphae11e and were written about with her permission. The prompt used was "I didn't know you could sing."

Annette is sitting on the roof of the pavillion, the night spread out before her like a deep wool blanket, only the peaks of the tallest trees piercing it to silhouette themselves against the navy blue sky. She doesn't know where the Manticore is, but somewhere beneath her Krystof is sleeping, his shaky breathing breaking the brittle silence of the night, setting her teeth on edge. She doesn't want to wake him, but she can hear the rustle of fabric below her as he moves in his sleep, and a bitter taste rises in her throat.

She sings quietly then, to soften the sour flavor, the words of a children's song she learned a long time ago, when her eyes were kinder and her arms frailer. "Alouette, gentille alouette," the jaunty tune flickers from her lips, at odds with her sad eyes. "Alouette, je te plumerai." Beneath her the sounds of movement cease, but she doesn't notice, too caught up in the memory of a different voice singing this, the mocking curve of chubby cheeks and grasping fingers a dark underscore to the smile in the song.

"Je te plumerai la tête," she breathes into the wind as though it will carry the notes into the darkness and bring peace to the monsters in the forest beyond her little haven. "Je te plumerai la tête," the words roll off her tongue easily, and never mind the phantom pain in her scalp when she breathes in.

"I didn't know you could sing," a voice shatters the soft held breath the night had become, waiting for the next line. Annette's head turns a little too fast, eyes gone flint sharp before she registers the boy wringing his hands behind her, standing on the roof as though he has always been there.

"Well," she says, voice still gentled by the time the song had taken her back to, softer than she would usually let him hear. "I don't sing very much. Just children's songs, now and then."

Krystof shuffles forwards, sits beside her on the edge of the building, far enough that you would have to stretch to touch him. So careful, always. "You should sing more," he says, almost a mutter, then he looks up in alarm, "I mean, if you want. You have a lovely voice. For singing, that is, not that your voice is u-usually bad." He bites the inside of his cheek after that, the stutter bursting behind his closed lips making Annette's chest ache.

"Maybe I will," she says, her eyebrows turned down like they want her mouth to frown and are sad when it lifts into a small smile.

Krystof is silent for a long while, after that, too long for him to thank her without it seeming awkward, and when he opens his mouth next she thinks she knows why. "What does it mean, that song?" He asks, and there's a childish openness to his face when he does, his pallid cheekbones highlighted by two bright eyes shining out, making him younger.

"It's about a bird," Annette starts, but then smoothly, gently, lies, "a lark that was singing too loud, so a child caught it and pet it until it fell asleep." The lie and the truth are so seamless she almost believes it for a second.

Krystof's owlish blink makes her smile again, and this time he smiles back, ever hesitant. "That's nice," he says, this time more murmur than mutter. "I like it." He hums the tune to himself, so quiet it is a dream of a song.

"I thought you might," Annette says, and leaves it at that. 


	2. Sleep Paralysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short ficlet about http://kxtsxne.tumblr.com/ (Warning for blood/nsfw at link)

Mel opened her eyes slowly, fighting to move her fingers and toes. She could hear something nearby, heavy breathing in her ears making her skin grow cold. Her eyes flicked left and right, glinting in the darkness, but she couldn't see, couldn't even turn her head to look in her blind spots. Her body was stiff, holding her addled spirit captive, her lips feeling like they were glued shut with blood. Out of the corner of her eye she swore she saw horns, long and sharp, needle-point tips impossibly bright in the night, but when she tried to look at it directly it disappeared, blinking out of existence like a candle snuffed out, not even a wisp of smoke left.

She tried to call for help, letting a muffled noise claw its way out of her throat, but no sound reached her ears but the _huff, huff_ of the nearby predator. Her mind felt slow, her spirit flailing outwards for help in an unseen movement that ruined her second phone this month, but she couldn't escape the body that held her. Her shoulders ached, back muscles tensing as though there were wings to flap, to wrap around herself and keep herself safe, but the only movement she managed was a slight twitch of her tail.

There was a shifting by the wall and she focused on it like a foolish mortal grasping for help, reaching out to her in a dark alley just before her teeth closed on their throat. The thing on the wall did not bite her, this time, but it stared, hollow gaze looking straight through her. She first thought it was a mask, but no, she had not painted one that color, and had not hung one where she could see it from her bed; certainly she wouldn't, not an oni mask, nothing that would make her heart pound in her chest with fear. It's teeth were bared in something not unlike a grin, but too hungry, more a grimace, and she tried to swallow but found she couldn't, and her chest went still, even her heart abandoning her.

The oni drifted closer, its body still shrouded in darkness. It must have placed some kind of spell on her, drugged her, bound her to the bed in this home that would become a slaughterhouse. Only its face was clear, shining with a malicious eagerness, and she wondered how long it had been hungry to want to eat her so badly.

Mel refused to think the word even as the oni began crawling up her body, making its slow way to her chest. It sat heavily, feeling as though it were crushing her lungs, its almost grin bearing down on her with disproportionate weight. She wouldn't think it, couldn't, tried desperately to stomp on the thought like she wanted to stomp on the monster about to end her existence. Her eyes scrunched tight, quickly this time, eyelids no longer sluggish with sleep. She was reminded of the first moments in this body, limbs heavy and weak, trying to rip themselves apart with the force of the soul shoved inside them-

And then she could move. Her whole frame shuddered when she took a breath, the pressure on her lungs suddenly gone. She sat up cautiously, wary of the specters she had seen, but none resolved themselves in the darkness. She was surrounded only by her stuffed animals, their empty arms offering her hugs. Hand shaking, she wiped her face of the slickness she could feel there now, stared down at her gold-streaked hands in the darkness. This, she decided, was the worst part of having a body.


	3. Manticore's Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you heard this song before: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihDdgNSYQ74 ??? because it's awesome and more people need to listen to it. In other news, whenever I write about AGAHC I seem to be able to write only with weird songs playing. Characters belong to my friend and lovely beta, http://raphae11e.tumblr.com

Annette’s hair is soft and all encompassing, fluffy like the Manticore’s mane but so much more gentle to touch. It tickles His short, bristly face fur, but in a pleasant way, like a summer breeze. She’s breathing deeply against his chest, tucked close and so surprisingly small, all things considered. It’s always a little startling for Him, reminders of how fragile the human girl really is, but then she fights and becomes hellfire incarnate, and she kisses and becomes an avenging angel, and He reminds Himself that He has nothing to worry about.

In such a peaceful moment, it’s easy for the Manticore to forget Himself and lose track of the sounds He makes. Usually that comes in the form of purring, embarrassing as it is, but tonight it’s a rumbling hum that makes Annette stir. Guiltily, He stops immediately, but her large eyes are already opening, gentle in a rare way and startling in their color as they always are; the only thing about her that’s obviously magical. The Manticore has always been attracted to her eyes, though it took Him a long time to figure out why.

“What was that song?” Annette asks, words ringing like clear bells despite sleepiness. The Manticore wonders sometimes if the power in her voice is magical in nature or just peculiar to her.

“It was nothing,” He says, large paw stroking her hair, feeling locks slip between His toes and slip silkily along His claws. “Just an old song my mother used to sing to me,” He pauses, but then says, “it was a lullaby. Now, it’s time for you to rest, isn’t it?”

Annette snorts, an indelicate sound for a delicate moment, and says, “I’ve never heard it before. Can you sing it for me? If it’s a lullaby, it’ll help me rest, won’t it?”

Her throwing the question back at Him is clumsy, but his heart is still beating so slowly beside hers, and her skin is still so warm against his stomach fur, so he relents. His voice goes surprisingly high, sometimes taking a cadence as if it’s two voices at once. The melody is gentle like lullabies should be, but it’s also piercing, powerful, something like his scorpion tail in it’s night-dark sleek deadliness.

When the song is over, Annette’s head is tucked under the Manticore’s large chin, but though her eyes are closed she’s not quite sleeping again. “What a sad song,” she says, “did that really happen to your mother?” The Manticore’s smile lifts his cheeks such that Annette can feel them move against the top of her head.

“It’s an old story,” He says, “if it was once true, it was long ago. Now, sleep,” He hummed until her breathing had sufficiently deepened again, but the moment she was well and truly asleep He quieted himself. He didn’t hum again for a long time.


End file.
